Return Home
by Hildwyn
Summary: What happens when Gillette returns to Port Royal just a day before the events of AWE beginswith Gillette, Groves, Norrington, and a tiny mention of a HH character crossover. Spoilers AWE!


Title: Return Home

Author: Hildwyn

Rating: T (mentions of character death)

Summary: What happens when Gillette returns to Port Royal just a day before the events of AWE begins. (Spoilers AWE)

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC. If I had...Gillette would have come back, Groves would have been a decent character in AWE, and Norrington never would have been OOC in DMC. And then there's the issue of Norrington in AWE, too...

Notes: A wee bit of a crossover with Horatio Hornblower. Well, mention of a HH character. PotC would be set...almost enough time ahead of HH that it could actually work. Royal Navy characters must stick together you know.

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Return Home

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It was a warm day, even by Caribbean standards--no gentle breeze moving the palm leaves like a lover's gentle caress, no relief from the harsh noon day sun baking any souls unable to shelter from its bright rays. It was like many other days remembered but completely unwanted and unappreciated by one making a long overdue return.

Gillette set a boot-clad foot upon the dock--the feeling of the hard wooden planking that stretched to the true _terra firma_ was a large change from the past three months of alternatively gently rolling or heaving deck beneath his feet. He nearly stumbled as his other foot came out of the longboat and touched the dock--but moving his hand to the side quickly and grasping the wooden rail spared him the humiliation.

Behind him his first officer stepped up, while Gillette let his gaze wander over the docks and the warehouses closest to them. Just a year ago this whole area would be bustling with activity--men loading and unloading cargo from merchant vessels, boats full of colourfully clad women baring their heaving bosoms rowing up to vessels at anchor to sell their own wares, mail being exchanged and shouting bo'suns preparing vessels to come and go, the Dockmaster arguing loudly over the fee for using the docks, inspectors coming and going to check manifests, sweaty men heaving at the capstans, men bartering the price of transport, or loudly proclaiming the bounties paid for sailors eager to sign on, old men missing limbs with their families begging for food or money, young street urchins running through or playing an impromptu game of English and French, with their shrill voices ringing out over the dull roar of all the hundreds of voices talking at once. No more. Those familiar sights, and sounds, and smells...were all gone. They had seemed so integral to what was Port Royal, but no more.

It was Port Royal, there was no doubt of that, but at the same time...it was not the same one they had left a year ago--back when Gillette was the newly promoted Master and Commander of the _Intrepid_, setting out to return to England for confirmation of his rank. The old Naval Ensign, once proudly flown on most of the ships in this area--the old Navy docks, were instead replaced with the East India Company's flag--the canton with the Union Jack, and the rest a series of alternating white and red stripes. Merchant vessels now--merchant vessels and the Company's escorts for them, and so many more heavily armed than they used to be.

There was still cargo being loaded and unloaded, that never changed, and as he had been told in Kingston before setting sail to Port Royal, the representative of the Crown, Lord Cutler Beckett, maintained that trade was the lifeblood of the Empire. Clearly, that was what was going on here, but then..so much was missing. No beggars, no children, save the few helping to load that cart there, no games, no women looking for men to pay them for their pleasures...it was so empty and devoid of...life. Gillette could not help but feel a pang of loss. For eight years he had called Port Royal his home port, no longer. He had come, waiting to see it in all its splendour once more...but she had passed him by. Gone with the times.

Off to his right--his old ship would have stood, the mighty _Dauntless_, but she was lost, with nearly all hands. May she rest in peace. Instead in her place was an obscenely larger vessel--the _Endeavour_--pride of the East India Company--a mammoth and decadent vessel, comparable to a first rate ship--opulent in only the way that a civilian monopoly backed by the Crown could afford.

Gillette turned and told his boat crew to await his return, with a stern warning that if he caught any of them not attending to their duty guarding the boat, that all would be punished. Navy discipline...harsh, but necessary.

Gillette and Reed set out further into the town to complete their orders: speak with the designated East India Company representative, exchange orders--a packet with just what was required was tucked in his waistcoat, just against his left breast, and then leave. He had thought he might want to tarry here awhile...but no longer was that the case. Gillette was a creature of habit, and right now the only comfort he could find in familiar surroundings was on board the _Intrepid_.

Their paths took them through the center of town--past buildings new to their recollections and ones incomprehensibly missing. Everywhere, instead of seeing signs of loud and boisterous people, there were only quiet despondent folk going through the motions. Instead of the proud scarlet-coated marines there were the blue coated merchant marines--men of the East India Company, and more often than not when they passed, they dragged civilians with them--prisoners. It was enough to make anyone feel sick. As they passed each group, Gillette's lips tightened until they were in a thin line--it was the best he could do to avoid scowling.

Whatever influence the East India Company had sought to bring, they only had brought the populace misery--tariffs, taxes, exorbitant prices--it was all a self perpetuating cycle. Most items had to be imported to Port Royal. There was some agriculture--on the outskirts of town, but that only yielded sugar cane--not something to feed the people on cheaply. Never before though had that seemed to bring what was now occurring--people starving, either dying or turning to steal to eat. And when they stole they were rounded up, accused of crimes and hung. Despicable.

It was what a monopoly on trade brought--food and goods to expensive to buy--Gillette even doubted that on his captain's pay, with no wife or children to support either, that he could afford to live were he not already eating curtesy of what was supplied by the victualing board. And to think...that the East India Company was trying to get it so that in the West Indies so that they were accepted by the Admiralty and victualing board to supply Royal Navy vessels--with payment naturally.

"Are those two Murtogg and Mullroy?" Reed asked as they finally approached an opulent manor--the East India Company's headquarters, pointing at two marines on duty.

"I believe so," Gillette remarked as they passed by, ignoring the two's attempts to greet the visitors. It was cooler inside without the sun beating down on them, and the interior was finely furnished--carpets from the orient, large maps painted on the walls, fine tapestries, good glass windows, teak and ebony furniture scattered throughout--the impeccable taste spoke of high wealth and class. It was a great contrast from the shabby town and people outside.

"I know that when they pulled out to Kingston that many were given the option of staying on, working for the Company, but I didn't think so many would take up the offer," Reed said, "My God...there's St Montgomery...I know he was forced to resign but..."

"Look at it this way, Mr Reed," Gillette said, glaring across the room at St Montgomery, the former Post Captain, who was now wearing one of the East India Company's Lieutenant uniforms, "we lost those who really had no place in the Navy. Murtogg and Mullroy were jokes, Collins and Crawford always hoped that those two would get hit by a lucky shot during battle, and now they are here where their mistakes impact the Company. A pity Midshipman Evans didn't find it in his heart to join them. As for St Montgomery, I can think of no better place for him to work--one that is so immoral that it should be criminal, as he is."

"Sir," Reed said, his gaze on someone behind Gillette. He nodded his head in that direction.

"There is someone you may want to see."

Gillette turned around. Standing near him, face impassive for a second before it split into a wide grin--an old friend. The same dark eyes, easy going manner, new wig...new uniform. Theodore Groves.

"I thought they might be sending you, though I must say, I'm astonished. You look good Wesley, not like you've been dining on the the esteemed fare of the Navy. Being a captain certainly has its benefits does it not?" Groves grin faded when he received no likewise warm welcome from the Captain.

"I think I see...I'll give you two some room," Reed said, tugging at his tricorne and moving off to another corner of the bustling room.

"Wesley...say something will you...you didn't go off and become mute did you?" Groves said.

"How could you?" Was Gillette's reply.

Groves frowned, "How could I what, _Gillette_? Come to pass judgment on us here?" His face was darkening with anger.

"How could you join them? You know what they are, you give up serving your country so that you can line your pockets with coins and silk, how dare you turn your back on us like that? You've seen what it's like in the streets--men marched away to hang because the Company holds profits to be higher than human life. If Norrington were still ali--" Gillette did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence, for a well aimed hook from Groves sent him sprawling on the ground.

Immediately several people moved forward to separate the two--mostly marines, two holding back Groves as another reached down to help Gillette to his feet, as he rubbed his aching jaw.

"I'm fine, leave us, it was simple a misunderstanding," Gillette said, wincing at the pain as he spoke.

"Go," Groves ordered the marines, who resumed their posts around the room. The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

"I did what I did because I had to."

"Oh, yes you did, tell me, how was it that you had to stay here and not go Kingston. You had a commission--enough that you were due for your own promotion soon enough. You could have had your own ship."

Groves snorted, "A glorified barge is what I would have been given command of, I am too easily enamoured of pirates, you know that Gillette."

"Please," Gillette said rolling his eyes, "your proclivity to admire pirates aside, I still got promoted, despite losing a ship out from under myself."

Groves glanced around, moving towards Gillette, pausing when the Captain pulled back a bit, then lightly putting his hand behind his arm and guiding his into a deserted room off of the main hall.

"James was always looking out for you, Wesley, you know that. And me as well, but..." Groves sighed, "It's all so complex now, you missed so much of it, you don't understand what really happened."

"Explain it then," Gillette said.

Groves stared at Gillette for a moment then continued, "after you were promoted and left for England, quite literally all hell broke loose. James returned from the hurricane you know," Gillette looked shocked, "and he left again. That was the hardest day of my life. You know he didn't deserve what he got, but he had to leave. I helped him."

"But surely," Gillette stuttered, "the _Dauntless_ was a wreck, if he survived then he would have to have faced a court--"

"Martial, I know," Groves said.

Comprehension dawned on Gillette.

"You helped him escape it. You helped him flee."

Groves nodded, "I arranged for him to make it to Tortuga. I offered to send him to Boston, but he'd have none of it. He said that he couldn't live among society again after his mistakes. You didn't see him Gillette, he was a wreck of a man, a mere shadow of whom he was before. It might have been kinder to let him die the man he was."

Gillette was silent. For Groves to say something like that...Norrington must have really been in a sorry state. Norrington was one of the proudest men Gillette knew--nothing seemed to faze, nothing seemed to be able to defeat him. It made him feel all the worse for not being there to help out both of them.

"The risk of finding out I was responsible for his disappearance was too high, when we were offered to join the East India Company I took the position. I'm First Lieutenant on the _Endeavour_ now. I've sailed all my life, known nothing else than fighting and the sea...what else was I supposed to do?"

Gillette shook his head, "Nothing, there is nothing else you could have done, Teddy, please forgive me, I spoke without knowing, I spoke rashly, and...I should not have doubted you." He walked over to the lieutenant and gripped him by his shoulders, "you're one of the best men I know and nothing can make up for the affront I made to your honour...though," he said, releasing one shoulder so he could rub at his jaw, "my jaw rather feels like it's made it up for me."

Groves gave a small smile, "you deserved that you know."

"I know," Gillette said admitting it.

"James is here."

Gillette was taken aback, "In Port Royal?"

Groves nodded, "Lord Beckett granted him a pardon for his efforts to help the Company against Jack Sparrow," Gillette ground his teeth at the name, "don't start now, Wesley, I know how much you dislike him, but that wasn't the point. You know all those silly stories about Davy Jones, the Flying Dutchman, and the stuff about whomever holds his heart has control of the seas?"

Gillette nodded.

"It's all real, all of it--I've seen the heart with my own eyes. James delivered it to him."

"Why would he do that?" Gillette asked.

"You believe me?" Groves asked, taken aback by Gillette's acceptance.

"Of course, I fought Barbossa's crew in case you don't remember, after that...well, some things are just a bit more believable. But why did James give Beckett the heart--he always said that he cared not a whit for companies that bend the rules to increase their profits, nor ones that traffic in human lives and misery. It seems so out of character for him."

Groves laughed, "and you say that about me."

Gillette shook his head, "I understand why you did what you had to, but..."

"James had no choice either. The way he tells it it was either letting Sparrow have the heart for his own purpose, or letting it be destroyed."

"I would have let it be destroyed--power like that doesn't belong in the hands of men."

Groves raised an eyebrow at Gillette, "you're one to talk you know."

"I guess it was better than letting it end up in the hands of a pirate," Gillette frowned, "especially _him_. The world according to Jack Sparrow--could you imagine that travesty?"

"He's still--"

"The best pirate you've ever seen, spare me, Teddy, I know. One would think that you wouldn't let the defeats of a fellow officer be a point of amusement to you...If James is here, I need to speak with him."

"He's not here right now, he's on the _Endeavour_--Beckett keeps a short leash on his newest Admiral," Groves said bitterly, "it's demeaning, he parades him around like he is a prized hound. Just like he parades around Davy Jones. He's a dangerous man."

"I hadn't noticed...speaking of which," Gillette reached into his coat and removed a several letters, "these are from Admiral Lord Heyworth. I believe one is for the military commander of Beckett's forces, and the other is for Beckett himself. His actions are making trouble for the fleet in Kingston, and several dispatches have made it back to Admiralty by now. Lord or not, it's not going to be enough to save him from the Navy. He's interfered with our duties, and he's going to have to pay for it."

"Thank God," Groves said, "though...I think you may be already too late."

Gillette gave a questioning glance to Groves. What could he mean, 'too late?' If anything could be done to stop that man, then they must take action, and while he would himself admit that perhaps the Navy did not always act in the most timely of fashion, they were usually there when needed, and would more often than not emerge victorious.

"Though I know you would agree completely with the sentiment, Beckett means to wipe out piracy. All of it--everyone who has or does practice it."

"An unrealistic goal," Gillette said. Anyone could become a pirate at anytime--all it took was an act of piracy on the high seas, and so long as they stayed around and were used for commerce, so would pirates stick around. It was, though unfortunate, not without its silver lining. It was also job security.

"Not with the heart," Groves disagreed, "But it is more than just that, Beckett is a man who...James has too many morals to side with him for too long--it's like you said--this is not a man James would ally himself with willingly.

"Beckett has found a way to summon all the pirates to meet him, and he means to execute many people to accomplish that--tomorrow morning. All those prisoners you've seen, they're all accused of piracy and associating with pirates. Wesley, they won't have any trials, no juries, no need to present any evidence against them. It's become a bloody witch hunt...and I think this is how he means to summon them."

Gillette shook his head, "Surely Governor Swann--"

"He's held in check by the threat of harm to his daughter. He will do nothing other than sign what he is given."

Gillette swallowed, "How did everything go wrong...how could it possibly go all this bad? The Navy could do nothing to interfere with his plans for the hangings tomorrow, I'm sorry, Teddy, but you know how it works as well as I."

Groves nodded, he'd served in the Navy long enough to know how long it would take for them to rally anything, let alone if they would do anything to interfere with a representative of His Majesty. There was no way to win this one. But there was still one other threat he owed it to his friend of many years to tell him, and at least let him know.

"James will be next sooner or later. He's too uncertain...Beckett won't be able to trust him on whether or not he will side with him or with Sparrow and Turner and Miss Swann."

"Turner and that...Swann are siding with Sparrow?"

"Don't tell me you didn't expect that," Groves said.

"Not any better from her, but I had held some hope that Turner might," Gillette said, and when he saw Groves' look he amended, "well not really, I figured he'd side with the pirate, but I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. James always said he had a good heart, maybe that will count for something more when we deal with the effects of a mythical being's own heart.

"I only wish there was something more that I could do," Gillette added.

Groves nodded, "I know what you mean. But this is no longer your time to act. This is between the pirates and East India Company, and God-willing, it will stay that way. James and I are tangled up in this too much now, we have no way out--but you do. You can still make it out of this with your life and your honour intact.

"Oh I have these for you," Groves went over to the desk and picked up some papers, "these are for Heyworth, Beckett had them prepared ahead of time. Just the usual types of answers I'm afraid."

"What is usual anymore?" Gillette said darkly.

Groves smiled for a second before adopting a neutral expression, "I'm afraid this is where we part ways, old friend. I have a hanging to prepare for tomorrow, and you must sail to Kingston. Hopefully things will be right by the end and I'll be able to see you again, however I very much doubt they will. This is goodbye I am afraid."

"I think I would rather pretend that I will see you again, and back in your real uniform," Gillette said giving the rest of Groves uniform a glance, "orange is hardly your colour."

Groves laughed, "So then we shall. Hopefully you'll make Post Captain soon enough."

"Without the likes of you and James to compete against now, I'm sure I will," Gillette said, trying hard not to swallow. He reached out and took Groves' letters, and turned to leave the room, pausing in the doorway to look back. He could feel Groves' eyes on his back. He turned.

"I will make this right," he promised. Groves smiled at him, but knew his words were hollow, they both did. There was nothing left that Gillette could do for them.

He walked from the room, seeing Reed across waiting by the door to leave.

Gillette stopped to tuck the letters in his coat, stopping when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around.

"James!"

Norrington smiled, "I didn't imagine that I would see you here...Captain, quite an achievement--that you kept the position. I think Theodore and I had a bet on how long you would last before you and your vessel were the latest list of casualties because of a mutiny."

Gillette scoffed.

"Before you go I want to ask you a favour--there is a boy here--his family wanted me to take him in as a midshipman, but I this is not the right place for him. I want you to take him aboard the _Intrepid_...as a favour to me."

Gillette nodded, "James, of course. James...I thought you were dead.."

Norrington blinked rapidly, his voice sounded off, "I'm sorry I have no more time to spare, Lord Beckett requested a report at the earliest convenience possible, and I am already late. 'Til we meet again, Wesley."

Gillette watched as Norrington turned and walked down the hall. Perhaps...perhaps there still was something familiar about Port Royal, maybe there was still that touch of home left with it--especially if home is where your friends are. Home--a visit home, even if it had been a year, it is easy to think that it is routine, to believe that what you always put off to say will be said when next you have the chance.

For none of the three...there will be no other chance, here, now, today...this was the last that all three would ever meet again, alive. Within the month, Norrington would fall on the _Flying Dutchman_ sacrificing himself for a group of pirates, choosing his side. After that, Groves would die from wounds sustained as he tried to swim away from the exploding_ Endeavour, _left to fend for himself by the rest of the Armada. Perhaps it was best that this was all unknown to Gillette--while he would never be able to give his final goodbyes, if he had known, he might have never left. Then whom would have tutored the young Midshipman Edward Pellew?

Fate works in strange ways, but there is always some good that comes of it, even if it is not apparent for years and years to come.


End file.
